(1941-01-23) Natrix Shake-Down
Details for Natrix Shake-Down
Summary: Since June 1940 The Natrix's surrounding area of Little Italy was hit hard by the Italian Immigrant Internment. Since then Wolfgang and his business have been struggling under Police Harrassment. The Natrix is a Muggle and Wizarding establishment. So when the police come for a shake-down (ironic with the Natrix's alleged Mafia connections), is the Statute of Secrecy enough to keep the peace?
Date: January 23rd, 1941
Location: The Natrix Dance Hall
Related:
Characters
AmmanMichaisWolfgang

The Natrix Dance Hall - West End


It is a winter night. The weather is cold and flurrying.


Formerly a restaurant and bar alone since 1850, this building has been remodeled and updated to also include a large dance floor and bandstand and stage. The restaurant still lives in that the white linen draped round tables positioned around the dance floor are catered to the best Saltimbocca dishes in England. The other regular Italian food fare is also deliciously found on the menus in the center of the table that are crystal plaques engraved and frosted so the lettering sparkles in the dim light making the script easier to read. Silver is used liberal in the decoration, the table legs, the chair legs and backs besides the green tapestry cushions are all silver. The styling beyond that is all very modern art deco. Greens and silvers prevailing. The live orchestra always always has a finger on the pulse of the crowd, they pick up tempo or slow things down with amazing empathy.


The Wolf Pack Orchestra is currently playing a slow one and the dance floor is packed with muggles and very often there's a man and woman in uniform enjoying a bit of leave. Upstairs in the 'VIP' (Wizard Only) lounge the dance floor is packed as well with people in odd dress, but they are out of sight from mundane eyes. The proprietor of the establishment is in his usual whimsical looking zoot suit and he's making the rounds. "Hey gorgeous, Hellow sir. Nice to see you." The typical owner schmoozing, that's always genuine.

Amman — dressed in a dark, pin-striped, jacket, wide-legged pants and two-toned oxfords — enters, pulling the grey fedora from his head and looking behind him, "Seriously, you'll have fun," he says to the man entering behind him. He stops to look around the VIP lounge, eyes moving first to the proprietor as the man makes his rounds. Amman, for his part, wears the smile of a man who is glad to be out and about.

THe man entering behind who is about to have fun wears a perfectly pressed brown suit. He's quiet, and only gives a nod and a quiet "as you say" to Amman. In contrast to his tailoring, his hair is completely mussed. He looks around at the lounge as they enter.

A pair of dolled up dames approach the guys as they enter, the first one asks, "Check your hat and coat gentlemen?" The other leans in to display her wares in her tray. "Cigars, cigarettes, Wolfgang's new vinyl?" Four sets of big black lashes bat at them as the girls await their reply.

Wolfgang has broken free of a gaggle of girls. He is covered in red kiss marks and even for a guy that's used to it, he's looking a bit stunned by the onslaught and dazed looking he heads for the bar.

Amman glances at the girls, and then down at the tray one of them holds as he puts his hat back on, shimmies out of his coat, and then plucks the fedora off once more, looking from tray to dame and smiling, "Thanks," there's a tip atop the coat, and he makes sure the girl has everything before he glances back at the man who entered with him and then back down to the tray. he taps a pack of the smokes and starts digging for the appropriate payment, "You want anything, mate? It's on me."

Shrugging out of his cloak, Michais hands it over, blinking once at the tip that Amman passes over with his own coat and hat, he looks down to his own pockets. He looks up absently at the question. "A cigar, please," he replies.

The Checker plucks a ticket from a roll around her wrist that's disguised as a sparkly bangle bracelet and with a wink passes Amman his ticket while placing its mate ticket onto the lapel of the coat before laying it over her arm. "You can find me right over there." She points a red lacquered fingernail towards her little coat closet office not too far from the door. Then Michais' things are taken with a smile but with noticeably less flirting, could it be the lack of tip?

The Cigarette Girl is even more flirty than the Coat Girl as she passes the pack and cigar over. She has this ever squirmy flirty semi-dancing thing. Maybe she likes the song that is playing?

It is just as they are getting their paid for wares when the door man they haggled with to get in comes in behind them and flips a switch on the wall quickly before exiting. Several lights start to flicker and flash and there's a bit of a panic within the room. "Shit, it's the Bobbies!" Says the coat girl and the items in her arms are shoved back at Amman and Michais. She proceeds to hurry into the coat room and prepares for anyone who spares the moment to get their coat and hat before rushing out. Soon the rush out is met with a rush in of men in uniform. They seem to be after anyone that looks Italian. Several swarthy men with dark hair and eyes are ganged up on. One is even punched in the stomach with a billy club. "Where you think you're going!?"

It's clear Wolfgang has Opera training because he doesn't need a voluminous spell to get heard over the ruckus. "Hey, hey, hey! Take it easy! No need for that. Everyone's here to just have a good time." His hands wave and it looks like he does itch to go for his wand, but so far he keeps his cool.

"You!" A billy club is pointed at Amman, "Come with us!"

Amman has had his hat and jacket shoved unceremoniously back at him, and he holds them to his chest as he turns around, light having come on,. people freaking out around him, and then…
"Me?" aphonic, that, and then he looks over to the officer. He's showing both hands, around that jacket, "What did I do?"

Holding his coat in his hands, Michais looks around as the commotion ensues. Quiet, unobtrusive, he tries to blend in as Amman is accosted. He doesn't go far, but one hand reaches back to scrub at the back of his head. He clears his throat quietly, and stands a few feet away from Amman, waiting for the answer to his friend's question.

The billy club pointing officer looks like he's as they say built like a brick shithouse. He also is one of the officers that just took the fight out of the man of Italian descent a moment ago. "We had reports of hostile alien activity in this establishment." The Bobby comes at Amman to get him manhandled toward the door. Like a ewe being herded towards the slaughter.

Wolfgang rather appears from no where to the side and steps between the cop and his customer. "Haven't you boys harrassed us enough. Now you know you just made all that up there's no 'Hostile A—" Wolfgang gets a billy club to the belly button like a sword being thrust up into his innards and then the club comes up above the officer's head and is coming down to strike Wolfgang across the temple.

"All right, all right, all right, I'm coming," says Amman, who interposes himself between the bobbies and poor Wolfgang. Amman has his hands up in the air, but only after he is careful to slip his wand into the proprietor's pocket as he passes the main, helping the fellow to not fall backward at the manhandling. He looks the lead officer in the eyes, hands to either side of his head, "Whatever it is you think I've done, you've got the wrong man, but I'll come along quietly. Leave these people be."

One foot shifts forward when the billy club is raised, but then Amman is interposing himself between the officer and the proprietor. Michais' fingers twitch a little bit as a slim piece of wood is slid back up his sleeve. He steps slightly to the side, now, maintaining a spot behind, to the side, of the rigorous bobby to go along behind when they escorrt his friend.

Just as Amman with his authoritative Auror presence is diffusing the situation, they weren't the only ones to see the Owner get struck by a Police officer. Wolfgang has bouncers/thugs, Fans and drunken soldiers that love his place of business. So at the loud grunt of nearly getting his innards wretched up there is that screech when the whole band halts immediately. Girls scream in fury and rush to rip officers asunder with their painted nails and it is all out bar brawl as the Swing Kids revolt against the Establishment, with a capital E.

And it appears as if all hell has just broken loose. Amman — who was /going/ to go quietly, still wondering why in the Nine Hells the bobbies wanted him of all people — steps back, or tries to, before he is clocked in the mouth from an angle, snapping his head to the side and sending him back into a chair, which he breaks in his fall. Hitting the floor square on his back, he pushes off and gets to his feet as the brawny officer stands there like some pugilist, and Amman follows suit. He grins at the other man, lower lip cracked and white teeth flashing, before he punches the officer in the stomach.

The Bobby gets a taste of his own medicine and doesn't like it at all! The smugness of his grin after putting Amman on his ass is very soon wiped away when he gets an uppercut directly to the stomach. He was not ready for that punch and doubled over her looks like he's just trying with all of his might not to lose his bangers and mash when he feels something knock at the back of his legs he turns his green puffed out cheeks to look down at Michais. Mich better watch out or it won't be a punch he's going to be ducking from next!

Meanwhile Wolfgang is just doing his best to escape the mob, but he's sort of swarmed by cops and by his loyalists. The crooner is going no wheres!

Then there is more pandemonium, and Michais finds himself between two opposing forces about to collide. He quickly ducks down, going to all fours, and then almost falls over when Amman delivers a good punch in return and the bobby stumbles against him. He covers his head for the moment, but then crawls forward a couple steps towards the bit of light he sees to stand up and look aroung.

It is a wonder that no magic gets used. Seems like all wizards present are letting Muggle Law do its thing, however unjust and radical they might be behaving. Most of the VIP lounge has vanished, be it apparate or use of the fireplace and complimentary floo powder that's upstairs. The riot is brutal and goes back and forth between who's winning and losing. But the Police are well trained and there's plenty of them in this raid. So eventually with everyone banged up and ruffled the cops separate the Italian looking employees (there are many), including Wolfgang himself, customers and even some people that came to gawk outside from the good British looking people. Michais gets roughly escorted to the sidewalk away from Amman and Wolfgang. The Auror and Entertainer both get shoved, thwapped and proded until they are hoisted up into a Paddy Wagon. With his hair all tossled and covered in even more lipstick and a few scratches from fans nails himself Wolfgang sardonically croons at Amman, "First time to the Natrix? Hope you had a swinging time my friend."

There is enough said here and there, from wisecracks to racial epithets, that Amman has pieced together what this is all about. He doesn't say anything as he's pushed and prodded towards the paddy wagon, and ultimately when the two are in the back, and Wolfgang speaks, the Auror actually smiles. The guy smiles a lot — very little gets him down — though it's far from a grin, "Oh yeah. Sorry about the mess up there, by the way."

Taking the rough shoving quietly and without complaint, Michais finds himself on the street outside the club. "Such a very good time," he murmurs to himself. Buttoning up his coat, he clears his throat, and then steps into the crowd that mills about the sidewalk. He pauses, turning to look as most are, in the direction of the wagon, and waits with the gawkers, and remember that somewhere in one of his pockets… right… he pulls out his own hat, and gives it a little shake to straighten it out, then puts it on his head, blending in with the good British citizens.

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